


pieces of us in the morning sun

by spoolesofthread



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, really it's like shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23114074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoolesofthread/pseuds/spoolesofthread
Summary: Jonathan Sims is not a man used to sharing his personal space. Waking up with the heat of someone else’s body pressed up against his is still a new, startling experience for him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 18
Kudos: 222





	pieces of us in the morning sun

**Author's Note:**

> short n sweet drabble i did in an hour for my good friend gray after a typical hellish day in the american news
> 
> not really set in any particular time, but can probably most easily be placed in the scottish honeymoon era
> 
> title from flowers where your face should be by the wonder years

Jonathan Sims is not a man used to sharing his personal space. Even when he was with Georgie, she tended to rein in her overly tactile personality for his sake. (He appreciated it, still does, but knows it’s one of the things that contributed to their split.) And after Georgie, well. He’s not exactly one for being _intimate_ , is he?

Working at the Magnus Institute hasn’t particularly helped matters either. At first Jon tentatively accepted Tim’s generally affectionate personality and Sasha’s gentle touches on the shoulder, Martin nervously handing him off a cup of tea every day. But with their increasing knowledge and contact with the entities and their various worshippers, things have changed with no sight of the path behind them left to follow back to the way things were.

All of that to say, waking up with the heat of someone else’s body pressed up against his is still a new, startling experience for Jon.

There’s always the hazy moment when he’s not quite awake where he chases the warmth, curling his perpetually freezing body further into it. And then the fear right after – why is there someone in his bed, is he in danger? Finally, half a moment later: realization and relaxation, a touch of embarrassment for his brief panic. _Martin._ Jon is grateful Martin is a heavy sleeper and almost never wakes for these moments. The most he does is shift in his sleep, adjust his hold for the way Jon moved and quietly settle again.

There’s something almost soothing to the strange routine of it, the fear and reassurance over the course of a few seconds. It figures that his life has progressed to a point where false fear is the most comforting thing he can think of, and he tries not to think on it too much. When Martin is holding him, warm and close in his sleep, it’s easy to put it out of mind.

Jon sighs into the quiet of the morning, rare only for the contented sound of it. The sun is warm at his back, but it can’t compare to the solid weight of Martin’s arm draped over his shoulders. He takes the opportunity to take in Martin at a level of peace he only gets to see when the other man is asleep.

The nervous pinch of his brow fades when he’s like this, face clear of lines or the worry so often pressing on him. (Jon feels a slight twinge of guilt at how often he’s the cause of that worry, how much he wishes he never had to see those lines again.) His freckles are visible in the sunlight, usually hidden by his glasses and a perpetually reddened face. (Pointedly, Jon doesn’t think about how much he would like to kiss each of them.) His mouth is partially open and tilted toward him, a far cry from the way he bites down so often on his bottom lip when he’s trying to keep quiet.

This time, it’s impossible to resist. Possessed by some quiet, feverish desire, Jon shifts up to kiss him. It’s soft, not meant to wake him, but he can’t help but use his free hand to cup Martin’s cheek. It sends a slightly nervous thrill through him that he’s allowed to do this.

Martin stirs under his touch and Jon goes to pull away quickly, apologetically. He hadn’t crossed some sort of boundary, had he? But Martin reaches up and holds Jon’s hand in place, eyes not even open yet. Martin laces his fingers over Jon’s, palm to back of hand, turns his head and presses an off center kiss into Jon’s palm. Jon himself goes a little red even as he relaxes into the touch.

Right, this is Martin. This is okay. They’re okay.

Martin blinks a few times, obviously trying to clear the sleep from his eyes. When he looks a little more conscious, he doesn’t even bother looking at Jon. He does tighten his grip around him a little, then with more devastating tenderness than a man just awoken should possess, he presses a tiny chaste kiss to each of Jon’s fingertips.

Jon doesn’t think he imagines the rush of warmth through him with each brief touch of his lips.

After, he finally turns his head and smiles at Jon, more precious than any morning sunshine. Martin smiles at him, still hazy with sleep and all the more sweet for it. And like every time Martin Blackwood smiles at him like that, Jon feels a little more of the icy shell built by a deeply frightened man melt away.


End file.
